Free My Soul
by Copper Tragic
Summary: I am not a woman... I am a fighter. Eowyn recounts her early life for Faramir when on their wedding night she shivers at his touch.
1. Chapter One

"Oh, give me the beat, boys, and free my soul/I want to get lost in your rock and roll and drift away. . ." --Dobie Gray, Drift Away  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
Lady Eowyn sat awake amidst pure white linen, twisting the bedsheets in her hands nervously. Her heart was all aflutter. That day she had married a man brazen and loving and unashamed enough to kiss in public, where many could observe them, a man who had married her knowing her still-juvenile heart had just finished pining for another. Eowyn loved Faramir, loved him as she had claimed to love Aragorn, but this love was true. Yet she was afraid.  
  
When Faramir kissed her, he had always been so gentle, every finger he had ever laid upon her had been tender and without malicious intent. But now they were married, and she was under his command. Would he be the same? Now that the consequences were slight, would he in any way mistreat her? Even if he did not, Eowyn feared for what should happen that night, for what she would be asked to do. He would know her secret, the deep secret she had hidden away for so many years. What he would think of her then. . .  
  
"Eowyn?"  
  
She turned to him, trying to look brave, trying to look as though she wanted this. His hands faltered as he placed one hand on the back of her head, almost cradling her, and brought his trembling lips to hers. It was his first time, she knew, and she tried to go through the motions as best she could, prompting him, massaging his tongue with hers. She only hoped he would not feel the greater need until he was already within her, and she would not need do anything and might let her spirit go from her body. With closed eyes she pretended to begin making love to her husband. Eowyn was a cold woman, and a master of her feelings, but as Faramir's hand slid down to her neck, she felt a tear streak down her cheek from between her closed eyelids.  
  
Faramir felt a spot of liquid drop to his chin, and after a moment realized that it was a tear. At once he drew away from Eowyn, jumping down from the bed and holding up his hands. She cringed in fear, turning within herself and away from Faramir. "Please," she gasped, "I--I am sorry, Lord Faramir, please, forgive me, I--I'm sorry."  
  
"Eowyn," Faramir said in a tone of astonishment, "you are a woman, not a whore. If I ever laid a hand on you that was in any way unwelcome, truly, I am sorry for my actions." He did not move to touch her again, not even to comfort her, but stayed away, giving her what ever space she needed. "Lady Eowyn. . .are you all right? Is it something I did? You need but tell me, and what ever I did to upset you I will not do again."  
  
"No!" Eowyn sobbed. "You did nothing wrong, it is me. . .Faramir, my lord, please do not be angry with me. . .know you have never been with another woman before. . .but, my lord, I wish to tell you and risk your anger now before we perform any acts that might cause you to be in a different mind. Another man has had me before."  
  
Faramir took a deep breath and slowly exhaled. He had not expected this, and in truth was a little angry, but had long learned that anger never solves anything. Faramir raised a hand to his brow and rubbed his forehead. "Who?" he asked at last. "Was it Lord Aragorn?"  
  
"No!" Eowyn sobbed again, her voice even tighter than before with fear.  
  
"Oh, Eowyn, I'm sorry," Faramir said. He knew that it was in truth she that should be sorry, but felt that he should not have frightened a woman who was already so clearly upset, in especial the woman he loved. "It is all right, Eowyn, I am not angry, no one is going to hurt you. There is no need to be frightened," Faramir soothed. He sat beside her on the bed and, gaining the courage to touch her, stroked her hair lightly.  
  
"Faramir, I am so sorry."  
  
"Eowyn, I married you because I love you. Nothing is going to change that; nothing," he swore, kissing the top of her head lightly. Eowyn, whose face was buried in her hands, lifted her eyes to meet those of her husband. Another tear fell.  
  
"What if I was not the person you think I am?" she asked cryptically.  
  
"Who would you be?" Faramir returned. "During the War, when I met you in the Halls of Healing, you were not fully formed into the woman you would become, and that was when I fell in love with you. I love you now as I did then, but so much stronger. . ."  
  
"And what waxes, my lord, in time will wan," she replied in a slow voice.  
  
"Eowyn, love, my heart is ever yours."  
  
"Even though I could not perform for you the duties of a wife on her wedding night?"  
  
"I care not. If you are more comfortable with it, I will sleep not in the same bed as you until invited to do so. You have rights as a woman, which, it is my belief, no man, not even your husband, may violate."  
  
"Oh, Faramir!" Eowyn gasped, touched by his loving kindness to her. She buried her face in her hands again. Faramir put an arm around her shoulders and drew her close for comfort, rubbing her back as she convulsed with sobs. His heart wrenched at his inability to help her any more than a feeble touch. When finally she stopped crying, he cupped her chin in his hands and raised her face, that her eyes again met his.  
  
"Someone has hurt you in the past," he said. "Will you tell me, Eowyn?" She closed her eyes and lowered her face, but felt a rising feeling in her chest. Swallowing, she nodded.  
  
"Only I ask, my lord, that you let me speak in full. I have not spoken of this to anyone. . .and fear once I begin, if interrupted I may be unable to continue."  
  
Faramir nodded. With a deep breath, Eowyn began:  
  
*****  
  
To be continued  
  
Author's note: The accents are very difficult for my computer, so some names (Eowyn, Eomer) which require accents may not always have them. Also, does anyone know what year Eowyn and Eomer's parents died? 


	2. Chapter Two

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof  
  
*****  
  
"My story is one to be told in pieces and fragments, each one dependent on the last not to be understood, but to have any significance at all. I will speak these fragments as they occurred in my life, and hope you understand...."  
  
Lady Eowyn had but one memory of her mother and none of her father. In her memory, her one memory, of her mother, Theodwyn is the picture of weakness. This was the last impression she left upon Eowyn. Over the years Eowyn would come to feel fear of weakness, anger towards her mother for giving her this fear, then hatred, being truly nothing more than an anger left to ferment.  
  
Right then, none of that mattered. Right then, she was just a little girl. She was seven years old, clutching the covers of her bed. The branches of a tree scraped against her window and the moon threw illusions on her floor, a clawing hand reaching out to grab her from her bed. Something had drawn her from her sleep and for a moment she lay in bed, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness.  
  
A sound reached her ears from down the corridor, a sound she could not name. Silently she slipped from beneath the coverlet and padded bare-foot across the floor to the door. As her fingers alit on the brass knob a sound from within caused her to jump and turn to face the chamber. Eowyn's little heart pounded within her chest. What was that noise?  
  
With a sigh, Eowyn realized that she had nothing to fear. For a moment she watched Nuevien, her dark-hair nursemaid, turn in her sleep. Eowyn's eyes narrowed. Her opinion of Nuevien was very low; although the woman had suckled Eowyn when the Lady was only a babe, as she grew to be a girl Eowyn thought her nursemaid much lacking. For example, at that moment the cat- like whinging sort of noise from down the corridor, which Eowyn moved to investigate, should have woken Nuevien. She slept on, and Eowyn swung open the door.  
  
The corridor was not, as Eowyn had expected, dark, but lit dimly by torches placed at intervals along the walls. She stepped into a pool of light as a soldier a pool of blood, dread creeping up her spine. At the end of the corridor a door stood half open, spilling bright light out into the hall. People moved about within but Eowyn could not make out their forms. She knew this for her destination.  
  
It all seemed the stuff of dreams. Who does not see in their mind's eye at night his or her self walking down a corridor to the light at the end? In these dreams, the sleeper knows their ending without a doubt and heads towards it, blinking from the light as the little Lady Eowyn did then. Sometimes if it is a nightmare the dreamer will not be able to reach the door. Usually this dream ends with a scream, and its host awakens in a cold sweat.  
  
Though beads of water dribbled down Eowyn's neck, she doubted never her wakefulness. She felt a pounding in her throat so painful no dream could create it. Her eyes became dry and they watered, and for a moment her vision was obscured. Such details the mind did not manipulate for dreams.  
  
At the end of the hall Eowyn's heart was pounding so loudly she was certain the whole of Rohan could hear, but no one paid her mind in spite of it. She slowly brought her face to rest against the doorframe. Within the chamber before her, she saw her mother and Marcariel, an older woman who had been working as Theodwyn's maid for many years.  
  
Lady Theodwyn was beautiful. She sat now upon a cushioned stool in her linen nightdress, her porcelain hands folded in her lap. Golden tresses fell in waves down her back, past the seat of the stool, left free for sleep but not disheveled beyond a point or prettiness. She held herself perfectly erect and proud, as though the red and puffed up lips of her eyelids were not clear for any to see. In spite of her blatant weaknesses she did sit tall with pride.  
  
Marcariel bustled about her Lady, but Eowyn did not so much as look at the servant, having eyes only for her mother. When tears slipped down Theodwyn's cheeks she seemed oblivious to them, above that weakness. There was something majestic about her mourning and her untouchable soul.  
  
"Drink this, Lady, it will help you sleep."  
  
Theodwyn looked to Marcariel and the bottle in her hands. "I cannot sleep. I must be awake for My Lord's return."  
  
"It will help you with the pain, then," Marcariel said. Theodwyn took a drink from the bottle without question, hardly knowing her actions.  
  
Eowyn would have stayed and watched, fascinated by this drama, but for her brother's discovery. "Eowyn! What are you doing out of bed?" Eomer scolded. Eowyn scowled at him. Eomer thought he was so big and important, just because he had eleven summers. His sister did not agree. "Come away from here, Eowyn. This is not the place for you."  
  
"You have no power over me," she answered. "I want to see what happens."  
  
Eowyn turned to look again but Eomer, whose eyes flashed quickly into the chamber, grasped her shoulder and prevented her from turning. "Why don't you go back to sleep? It is very late," he tried again.  
  
"Let me go!" Eowyn hissed, twisting.  
  
"Eowyn, listen!"  
  
"No, let me go!"  
  
They fought quietly and briefly. Eowyn moved to kick Eomer's legs out from beneath him but was not strong enough nor had her legs sufficient reach. She tried hitting him with her fists, and before Eomer managed to subdue Eowyn she landed an assault on his eye. Then Eomer caught his sister's fists in one hand and held her back with the other, and the fight had ended.  
  
Eowyn twisted free again and ducked away from Eomer. "You cannot tell me what to do!" she hissed at him, then ran past him, away from the bright room. Once she had done this, Eowyn realized that she had neither the means nor the longing to go anywhere but to her own bed. She lay down and in moments fell into a restless sleep.  
  
Lady Theodwyn was consumed by her grief ere the morning rose.  
  
*****  
  
To be continued 


	3. Chapter Three

"Day after day I'm more confused/And I look for the light through the pouring rain" --Dobie Gray, Drift Away  
  
Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof. 1500  
  
"Lady Eowyn, I see you!"  
  
The young maid in question pressed a hand to her mouth, suppressing her giggles. 'Don't either,' she thought, having a difficult job of holding down that laughter. Taking cares not to make a sound, Eowyn peeked through the veil of leaves to see Eolin, a cousin of very distant blood, gazing about him with a hand to his brow, shielding his eyes from the sun's bright glare.  
  
As she grinned at him, safely unseen, a golden curl fell from behind her ear and hung before her left eye. Shifting her weight to her left arm, Eowyn tucked the curl back behind her ear with a gentle motion, pulling taut the strands to be sure they did not come loose again--in the near future, at least.  
  
Eolin hardly thought to look above him, and so passed below the blatantly apparent sight of the cherubic face of Eowyn, still peering down at him from her perch in the tree. Had he looked up, he might have seen two shaded blue eyes gleaming mischievously beneath brows of some hue between brown and blond, pink cheeks still chubby with youth, and all of it topped with a head of hair thick and golden, and tied back unceremoniously with a bit of yarn. Such was the appearance of young Eowyn, aged twelve years.  
  
Craning her neck to watch Eolin's continued search, Eowyn nestled herself among branches deeper and deeper from her hiding space, until at last she came upon a bough--and missed it! Head over heels and heels over heads she tumbled until with a mighty crash the ground claimed her.  
  
For a few moments Eowyn remained, experiencing an ache in her back and shoulders, and generally all over, looking up at the fluffy white clouds drifting across her perfect blue sky. As the aches pounded like horses' hooves within her Eowyn watched the clouds and imagined flying; she lost herself in the heavens, leaving behind her aches and pains.  
  
"Eowyn?" Eolin called, worried. "Eowyn!" Suddenly he appeared beside her, jerking her back to the earth. At first he just watched, then his arm shot out. "Tag-you're-it!" he cried.  
  
"Mmm," Eowyn answered, affirmative but not particularly reassuring. "No, I don't think I want to play any more."  
  
Eolin scowled. "It is not fair to quit because you have been tagged."  
  
Eowyn did not care. "Go away then," she answered lazily. "I only want to watch the clouds now." Eowyn folded her arms behind her head. Eolin watched her for a moment, then left, disgusted at what he thought of as ill sportsmanship.  
  
As Eolin left her a curse settled powerfully over Eowyn, and she found herself incurably bored with the suddenly over-tiresome clouds. She rose and with great leaping strides crossed the courtyard.  
  
Iarcal shared no father with Theoden for at least six generations, yet remained nevertheless a counselor to the King and as much a confidante as any king dared have. Standing by the window in Theoden's study as the King bent his mind to the letter before him and wondered precisely what Steward Denethor wanted of him, Iarcal watched as the boyish daughter of Theoden's sister, poor motherless thing, ran with a steed's haste. His brow furrowed with concern as he debated whether he ought to speak of his observances. Surely Theoden ought to know of young Eowyn's masculinity, yet he knew naught of how to treat a girl-child, pure though his intentions were. If only Elfhild were alive...!  
  
"Sire," ventured the counselor, "may I speak freely?"  
  
Theoden paused, looked to his distant kinsman and said, "I should hope that you oft take such liberties, Iarcal. Please, do speak."  
  
"The daughter of your late sister, young Lady Eowyn, does not behave as a girl ought, Sire. She runs and fights with the boys; you have seen this. A Lady's place lies not in athletics."  
  
Theoden sighed. He knew not where a Lady's place lay. Save for the obvious anatomical differences he knew little of women from men, and by this token though he loved Eowyn he treated her differently from her brother Eomer only in keeping her in Edoras and not sending her out with patrols. She pined when her brother was abroad, but for the day Theoden reminded her that Eomer ventured out on his first patrol at thirteen years, but that reasoning swiftly grew thin as Eowyn approached this same year. What could he tell her then?  
  
Never would he send Eowyn on military business from Edoras; Theoden knew this. She would beg him to send her; Theoden knew this, also. He saw problems approaching and often, when the wee hours of the morn came and the sun's warm light crested the plains Theoden sat awake, wondering what to do for this confused youth. Perhaps Iarcal was correct; perhaps transforming Eowyn into a proper Lady would soothe her malcontent distemper.  
  
When Theoden voiced this opinion he looked into the blue eyes of his niece and watched fires blaze. Once in his youth he observed a man shaping glass, and though Theoden recalled little of that experience (for he had been very young) he did recall the furnace glowing orange with heat, burning as though the flames consumed not wood but heat. Such flames licked at Eowyn's eyes, and she opened her mouth to protest.  
  
"Not a word from you, child: we all face unhappy prospects in our lives, and the least we can do is face them with stalwart courage and fortitude. In the tradition of our fathers, so may daughter learn."  
  
Eowyn bit her tongue until it bled.  
  
"I shan't do it!" she raged, alone with her nurse. "I care not for the tradition of father to son; how dare he propose that I may be no son yet must follow tradition, how dare he!" She balled her fists in rage and tightened every muscle in her body.  
  
Nuevien, her nurse, answered in an emotionless voice, "He dares because he is the King of Rohan, Lady, and may do as he likes."  
  
"And what am I to do? What do I know of maidenhood and who may teach me what I do not?" Eowyn challenged. There must be a way, some way to escape this torture! The words alone sounded dark: needlepoint, knitting, etiquette! Stomping one stocking-clad foot against the floor Eowyn announced, "I hate him, and I'll not do it!"  
  
"You don't, and you will," answered the nurse, in such an absent manner that Eowyn rounded on her, cheeks flaming, fists curled, and wondering if the woman had no emotion or simply sought to aggravate her young charge. "I shall teach you something, if you like. Here; take this and--"  
  
Theoden regretted the manner in which he approached Eowyn. After all, she was only a girl. She did need rules and discipline, but also love and care. She lost both parents so early in life, and Theoden tried to remember, but when those fires spread across her eyes he often forgot her for a little girl. Meaning to take back his earlier harshness he strode down the corridor--only to be knocked back by a fleeing nurse, chased by the shouts of an angry young girl.  
  
"Out! Get out!"  
  
A wicker sewing basket followed the nurse. Theoden waited for a few moments, listening to the abuses hurled by his young ward, then stepped forward to address her. Eowyn sat on her bed, her face blazing with fury. All the blood in her cheeks caused her to glow.  
  
"Eowyn. This behavior is unacceptable."  
  
She glared angrily at him. "I shan't do it!" she insisted. "I cannot, I do not know how! I've never done it before!" Sadness captured her heart, and Eowyn buried her face in her hands as tears rolled down her cheeks.  
  
Her uncle looked upon her then, and being stirred by pity he spoke lovingly, "Fear not, Eowyn, for never was your road meant to be an easy one."  
  
Eowyn sobbed once, then quickly swallowed her tears. "I do not know how to do it, Uncle. I do not know how to be a woman."  
  
"I know, child, and for this I am sorry." He offered to her a pocket handkerchief with which to clean her face; she accepted this. "You must try now to be a woman, Eowyn, for simple fact is that you cannot be a man."  
  
"Would I had been born as such! But for you, Uncle, I will try."  
  
She did try, but little good came of it. Eowyn's handling of a needle with such ferocity and jabbing at air as though at orcs frightened the ladies of Meduseld, and when taught to dance she accented every turn with a stab. Given a message to deliver Eowyn sprinted and came to the recipient sweaty and pink, but happy. Rarely did she smile.  
  
Nights terrified Eowyn. One darkened hour, after three weeks of "womanhood", Eowyn awoke to the sound of crying. A cold fist gripped her heart, remembering the last night she awoke to crying. Eowyn had to know. She would never be able to live without knowing for sure who cried late at night in the halls of Meduseld.  
  
She sneaked out into the hall, bare feet cold. The sound grew louder but no more specific. It seemed to come from everywhere, perhaps even from the walls themselves. Eowyn looked this way and that and she saw nothing. Her body shook with fear, but she chided herself, "Would you rather not know at all?" and continued down the corridor.  
  
In the empty chamber where her brother usually slept, save nights like this when he had yet to return to Edoras, Eowyn clapped a hand to her mouth. There upon the bed she saw a body. It wore a white shift, and patches of stringy grey hair clung to its scalp in places. Flesh peeled away from the bare face and arms. Eowyn stood for a moment, frozen in terror.  
  
Then she recognized the body as that of her parents--not one or another of them, simply them. Love, not terror, coursed through her body, and Eowyn laid herself down to rest. Peace stirred within her, and she knew no unhappiness.  
  
Until, taking a message to the stablemaster, she encountered a group of previous comrades. In the aftermath Eowyn would admit that she began the match by speaking--"Eolin! Eolin, Erathrad, Hallafas!" she greeted each of her one-time friends by name. They turned to look, and for a moment stood silently. At last Erathrad, eldest and as much leader as the trio ever knew, spoke,  
  
"Who asks?"  
  
"Me, Eowyn! Surely you have not forgotten in less than a month!"  
  
"Eowyn? We knew an Eowyn, once...but never a soft-handed, light-footed, pure- bred lady Eowyn. You cannot be our friend, go to."  
  
The other boys snickered. Eowyn straightened her shoulders. "I ran as fast as you and flat faster, Erathrad. Perhaps you are only challenged by this fact that drives you to refuse me!"  
  
Erathrd froze, his pride wounded, then shot back, "Weak little wish-to-be princeling scum-sucker!"  
  
"Second-hand donkey-bottom biter!" Eowyn answered. Moments afterward Erathrad had her pinned to the mud. Eowyn raised her knee in retaliation and smashed into Erathrad's gut, causing his grip to loosen enough for her to flip him over. Swiftly she climbed atop Erathrad and knelt upon his chest. "I'm a what, am I?" she asked.  
  
Erathrad did not answer, but stared at a point past her shoulder. Eowyn turned to look, giving Erathrad the chance to shove her off and flee. Sitting in a puddle of mud with no decent excuses for a bloodied nose, Eowyn looked up at her uncle--then sighed and looked at her hands.  
  
Two months passed in drab boredom, each day a mirror of the last. Eowyn spent time alone when she could, and enjoyed this only for what it was not. The first true storm of the rainy season found her seated by the window in her cell, watching the rains pelt heavily to the ground. She pressed her brow to the pane and spoke softly, that she would not be overheard.  
  
"I would ride these storms. I would feel the rain in every pore. Can there be any fate more wonderous than to feel the galloping hoofbeats as one with the horse and the hoofbeats one with the thunder? Can this be the fate of Eowyn, daughter of Theodwyn? Nay, it cannot. Then I would be not Eowyn but Eomer, son of Eomund, and I would ride to victory and heroism through all weathers. The death of my father, the death of every father at profane orc- hands, would not go unavenged if I were Eomer, son of Eomund."  
  
With a sigh of muted heaviness Eowyn shook her head. "Come home soon, Brother," she whispered, and turned to the embroidery in her lap. Her skill left much yet to be desired, but she could sew a seam nearly straight and thread a needle in less than half a minute. She was no Lady, Eowyn daughter of Theodwyn, but she was a woman.  
  
To be continued!  
  
Elfhild, Theoden's wife, died giving their only son, Theodred, birth in 2978 of the Third Age, seventeen years before the birth of Eowyn. I don't know if Eowyn would have a nurse at the age of twelve, but looking in reference to Shakespeare, Juliet had a nurse at thirteen, so it can't have been unheard of among youths of more affluent families.  
  
chose assez petite: I'm actually not a stickler for canon. I quite liked Peter Jackson's films, in fact. Terribly sorry, but it seemed unfair not to warn you about that.  
  
And thanks to voldie on varsity track for reminding me to update--I forget sometimes if not given a bit of a kick in the pants. 


	4. Chapter Four

**Anything in bold text is separate from the story.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any characters and/or places thereof**  
  
"I never actually mourned my father's passing. He so often left us that I presumed him simply on another trip. No one took me aside and explained death. By the time I understood that he would not be coming back, his presence had faded from my mind. I hardly understand why I cried, but it was more shock than sorrow."  
  
Eowyn pulled the brush angrily across the golden mare's back. "'Tis unfair, Elheri," Eowyn said, speaking to her horse as much as to herself. "How should I know what is right and wrong by a woman's standard? What women have I to stand beside? The Queen is dead and my mother also. I mean not to sound callous, but only to observe that by their absence I know no woman. Why, the closest I have to a role model is you, my Lady of the Stars!"  
  
She tossed the brush over her shoulder then spun around to watch it. The wooden back hit the divider keeping Elheri from nipping at the horse in the next stall. The brush ricocheted and clanged against the bottom of the metal bucket. Eowyn smirked, pleased, then remembered that she was to behave in a more ladylike fashion and made a face.  
  
"I hate them, Elheri, I hate them all!" Feeling at once horrified and liberated to have her feelings in the open air, Eowyn ducked her head out of the stall. She had been certain that no-one else was here, yet...Yet had she not heard footsteps? "Is somebody there?" Eowyn asked. To Elheri she instructed, "You stay here," then fondly rubbed the white splotch on the mare's forehead and slipped out of the stall. "Hello?" she asked.  
  
No answer came to Eowyn, for the brooding Ranger six stalls down and opposite her did not hear. "I command that you reveal yourself!" she said. There came no answer but the wind. Shaking her head, Eowyn returned to Elheri, slipping easily back to her rant.  
  
"Act as a woman! He speaks as though the past twelve years will simply disappear!"  
  
Eomer, having sought the same silent man six stalls down and opposite Eowyn, saw his sister and paused. Oft he neglected to think of her heart, and now he saw her and wondered. _She was so little...does she even remember?_  
  
"Here, I will just..."  
  
Eowyn fixed her brother with a gaze of numbing ice and he froze. "May I offer my assistance?" he asked. Her eyes flickered over his face, evaluating him. She asked without speaking aloud, what are you implying? What are your honest intentions? While she took stock of his mind and of her pride, he stood still. Elheri made the decision when Eowyn could not: the horse extended her neck and snapped at Eomer's fingers.  
  
Eowyn smiled slightly in amusement, aware of the dubious morality of the source of her joy, standing in her no-nonsense way beside the mare Elheri, the largest horse Theoden allowed her to ride. Eowyn had skill with the horses; she rode well. She disliked that Theoden forbade from riding the bigger horses. Frankly, Eomer preferred it. He did not want his baby sister thrown from a warhorse.  
  
Was Eowyn a baby? In most ways, no, she was not. Her wisdom far surpassed her years and in many ways Eomer's; she controlled her tongue and temper in most instances. She lacked guidance and by that token lacked direction, but she found paths well enough to trod. Little escaped her sharp mind and intense, scrutinizing gaze. Nevertheless, Eomer thought of her as his baby sister and wished to protect her.  
  
"Here," she said, thrusting the hoofpick into his hands.  
  
_After three years, is that unhappy spark in her eyes for our parents? I have not forgotten them, but what if Eowyn has? Perhaps this is why she seems always to be looking for the proper road to walk.  
_  
"How was your ride?" he asked. Though he pinched Elheri's leg just above the hoof, she refused to lift her foot. He tried again.  
  
Eowyn's eyes were laughing at his struggle, but she did not laugh aloud. "Difficult," she admitted. Eowyn had lessons in riding yet, much to her chagrin. She knew the lessons were to her benefit, however, and so abided them. "Posting--" she stuck out her tongue "--and then I had to sit through a trot, and Elheri has a bouncing sort of trot. I did so miss the reins!"  
  
_She rides without reins, yet cannot be a soldier. I wonder that Eowyn had the misfortune to be born a girl and I a boy._ Eomer shook his head at his silliness.  
  
Elheri lifted her hoof nearly half an inch. Eomer grabbed the hoof and cradled it in his hand, his muscles straining as Elheri attempted to retrieve the limb. Once Eomer had cleaned the hoof of all the rubbish constantly lodging in the shoe's hollow U-shape, Elheri plunked her hoof down again. He struggled with the hooks keeping the thick cloth pads called bell boots around her hooves. "But did you manage it?" he asked Eowyn, knowing the answer, indulging her pride with a chance to gloat.  
  
"Yes," she answered, brushing dust and beads of milky sweat from Elheri's coat. If she saw her chance at bragging, she ignored it. _A lady is modest,_ she thought. She was sure she had read such a thing somewhere.  
  
"Eowyn..." Eomer was too curious for his own good. "Do you remember our mother and father?"  
  
She fell silent, dragging the currycomb in circles through Elheri's coat. When Eowyn answered the inquiry, she did so in the voice of a woman. "No." She blinked tears out of her eyes and sniffed, but tried not to let Eomer know that she was crying. _I never should have mentioned our parents! Poor Eowyn, that I should treat her so insensitively._ Fishing through his pockets, he found a kerchief and handed it to her. "My thanks," she muttered, cleaning her face.  
  
"If you tell Uncle that the horse kicked you, I will agree." _I am doing a bad thing there, encouraging my sister to lie, but I would not have her admit to having cried for our parents unless she wishes to. _Eowyn yet had the child's perception of a warrior, the idea that true bravery comes without emotion, and Eomer understood this, having believed such a thing himself for many years.  
  
"Eomer," she asked him seriously, "will you always be looking after me this way?"  
  
He tried to distinguish the emotions in her voice, and decided that she sounded as though it bothered her that he did look after her so, but without the usual fire in her anger. "No," he answered honestly, surprising himself as much as he surprised her. "I do not suppose I will always be here to look after you. Best take advantage of it while it lasts," he teased to lighten the mood, then embraced her quickly. She smelled like horse and hay and sweat.  
  
Eowyn brushed out Elheri's coat, her mane, tail and forelock. Eomer took extra care to clean the hooves very well and take the bells off. Eowyn fed and watered Elheri as Eomer checked that her tack had been properly seen to. (It had.) Neither of them wanted to speak to the other.  
  
As she hopped over the stall door, Eowyn came face-to-face with the shaggiest, most frightening man she had ever encountered. Her heart pounding in her chest, the girl backed uncertainly against the door, her wide, watery eyes fixed on the hulking figure, equally frozen by the child before him. Something colored his eyes, an emotion akin to nostalgia, yet...not so. He missed something, but not his past, and though he remained wolflike and an utter terror to look upon, Eowyn felt her fear ebb, for his expression was soft.  
  
"Ah." Eomer vaulted over the stall door, landing beside his sister. "Eowyn, this is Thorongil. He traveled with Theodred's party. He is a friend to our uncle. Lord Thorongil, this my sister, the lady Eowyn."  
  
"My lady."  
  
"My lord."  
  
They bowed to each other, Eowyn with her hands clasped behind her back and Thorongil with his palms pressed together before him. _Where does he hail from?_ Eowyn wondered. She felt warm of a sudden, her heart beating with something quite the opposite of fear.  
  
He was talking, saying, "Although, my Lord Eomer, I am no lord..." but Eowyn paid that no mind. Suddenly her sweat glands were working harder than ever. Eomer coughed and tugged at her hand, and Eowyn followed him, baffled by her strange new feeling.  
  
**To be continued...  
  
...but possibly not for some time. I'm going to be on holiday for most of the summer, and so unable to update. Please have patience! Thank you.**


	5. Chapter Five

Disclaimer: I do not own Lord of the Rings or any recognizable characters and/or places thereof

"For a time I played the game of a child, stretching my boundaries, but running only to return home, only to know there were constants in my life. Having attained some rank, I worked harder than ever before, slept less, and I was happy. Only one incident marred this bliss, one I quickly and in folly banished from memory."

Eowyn drew her cloak tighter around her and shivered. When she found Eomer, she swore, she would pound his arrogant head! Breathing out an angry blast of air, Eowyn watched tiny clouds form and shivered. Low clouds hung over Edoras, their bellies fat like the tabby with a torn right ear who submitted loudly to every tom and dragged her fat kittens nearly on the ground before dropping them and, consistently, abandoning them later. Shaking her head, Eowyn hurried on.

Edoras was a good city, a safe city. However, it was soldiers who maintained that safety, soldiers who would defend the city in a time of war. And soldiers, Eowyn knew, were men in their rawest form. Their duties were grave and often dangerous; those who remained alive and continued to function after years in the king's service had nerves of steel. They risked their lives every day. As Eowyn saw it, they deserved whatever relaxation they grasped.

As the soldiers claimed, they were celebrating life. It was an old joke, and after a few pints the cry of, "To life!" brought a raucous laughing applause and another round.

The streets were dark. No moon or stars shone, not through clouds so laden with snow. At least the tavern down the hill provided some luminance: as Eowyn's soft boots raised lethargic swells of dust from the road, a burst of laughter filled the air and a shout of something she might have blushed to hear, were she less dedicated to her bravado.

"You had better be sober, Eomer," she growled quietly, annoyed. Eomer had curfew at an hour past sundown, just as she did. If he got them into trouble…

Eowyn hardly believed she was doing this. She almost hoped it was one of those dreams she hated when she was _certain_ she had stumbled her way to the pot, only to suddenly find herself about to piss the bed. Yet it had not been one of those dreams, nor the pressure of her bladder, that woke her this night. It had been a dream more terrible, one answering the questions she dared not ask about her father's demise. In her worst dreams it was graphic and wracked with pain.

Waking silently in a cold sweat, Eowyn had taken several deep breaths to calm herself before slipping from her bed. Her shift entangling itself in her legs as she crept down the corridor, Eowyn fought the urge to swear-or to scream. She knew if she could just reach her brother, she would be safe.

Eowyn never woke Eomer. She never told him of her dreams. Silently, in deepest night, she chose to watch him. As breath expanded and collapsed his chest at even turns, Eowyn found her lungs functioning more evenly, oxygen flowing more readily into her. Knowing her brother lived, and was safe, Eowyn relaxed. The images of her nightmares melted away like butter on toast newly taken from the fire. Hoping Eomer would not wake, Eowyn would tiptoe from his room and lie, cold but satisfied, in her own bed, often awake until morning.

But this night, circumstance changed. Eomer's bed was empty. Hopeful of his return yet aware it would not come, Eowyn had counted to three hundred before dashing for her boots. Too smart to run outside in only her shift, she had tugged on trousers, a shirt, tunic and cloak over the shapeless white dress. She laced and tied her boots, then slipped from the room.

Only once did the thought occur to her: _If Uncle Theoden catches me, I'm in biiig trouble!_ Then she remembered her brother, and though the sentiment remained, it was pluralized to include him.

Now Eowyn hoped this was a dream, prayed for it to be a dream, and knew with a horrible certainty that it was not. Her fingers were cold as icicles, and no dream would allow that.

Pushing open the tavern door, Eowyn raised her head, earlier bent against the cold. As though entering a giant's mouth, she was blanketed in a burst of warm, drunken breath. She shook out her curls and scanned the crowd for Eomer.

For a moment the many men blurred, and Eowyn thought she might be drunk just by breathing the air! Then she blinked the room straightened, and she looked about for Eomer. True to form, it seemed, he was nowhere to be found. Eowyn cursed. Eomer _always_ drank here, always!

As she stood, fuming, someone dug an elbow into her ribs. "Watchit!" he growled, shoving past her.

"Watch yourself," she retorted, annoyed.

"You-" the speaker spun to face her, and his expression changed. "Eowyn?"

She squinted. Did she know this boy? Should she? Ah, yes! At once she remembered. They used to tussle; they had been competitive. He hated losing to her. "Erathrad." His name felt like a curse.

Erathrad grinned. "You've got to be a lady!" he announced, gleefully inebriated.

"Don't you wish it," Eowyn sneered half-heartedly.

"Are you telling me those aren't breasts then?" he asked, and reached out to find out for himself, but Eowyn would have none of it. She kicked his shin, though he hardly seemed to feel. Erathrad laughed. "I like spirited women," he confided, "like foals waited to be broken." Before Eowyn could stop him, or feel anything other than unbridled disgust, he kissed her.

Eowyn's eyes were open before, but now they were as round and wide as a startled horse's. Unable to comprehend what was going on out of pure shock, she brought her fist up and swung it hard in a right hook. Erathrad crumpled away.

For a moment Eowyn thought she might have killed him. The thought pleased her. Even so, she was not overly disappointed when Erathrad began to moan. He had fallen onto a table, spilling several drinks and bringing the angry drinkers to their feet. Eowyn froze. This was not good…

The tavern's owner shouted something. _Oh, no._ Eowyn was distinctly aware of the battle situation, and unable to act. Icy knowledge of her impending pounding coursed through her. _Oh, no, and Uncle Theoden is going to be so angry!_

"What's going on? Eowyn?" Eomer's blearily drunken eyes reverted from squints to openness. He had shouldered his way through the crowd gathered to watch a fight. "Eowyn!" He grabbed her arm and pulled her through the crowd. Relieved, Eowyn followed willingly.

In the street, the cold air sobered both of them. Eowyn lost her giddiness from knocking out Erathrad. Eomer seemed less intoxicated, at least enough so to drag his sister up the road until the clamor of the tavern was a dull and distant roar.

"What is wrong with you?" Eomer demanded. "What were you even doing here?"

"Looking for you," Eowyn retorted, "so you did not get yourself into trouble!"

"Oh, that was wise! Starting a _bar brawl_ to keep _me_ out of trouble!"

"If you hadn't been out in the first place-"

"You don't look after me, Eowyn!"

For a moment they stared at one another, both seething angrily. Eomer privately nursed his wounded pride, while Eowyn grew more and more ashamed of the fight. At last their shivers were induced more by the cold than by anger. "Come on," Eomer said, "let's go home." He was too proud to say what he meant, which was, 'I hate that you put yourself in danger for me, Eowyn. I am your big brother. _I_ am supposed to look after _you_, not the other way round.'

"Why did you hit him?" Eomer asked as they sneaked into his bedchamber through an open window.

"Because he kissed me," Eowyn answered honestly. Her brother's reaction was far different from her expectations.

"He did what? Why that little…" Suddenly he grasped her shoulders. "Eowyn, you must promise me, if anything like that happens again that you will tell me."

"I promise," Eowyn said, more to mollify Eomer than truly meaning it.

"And you must tell Uncle Theoden," Eomer added.

Eowyn tore out of his grasp. "No!"

"Promise!"

"No!"

Eomer grabbed Eowyn's wrist and tried to twist her arm behind her back. She contorted her body to slam her head against his chest and Eomer released her, staggering; Eowyn dashed for the door, but Eomer snagged his foot around her ankle and knocked her down. One disadvantage brought on Eowyn was that, strong as she was for a thirteen-year-old, she still groaned in pain as her seventeen-year-old brother sat on her stomach.

"Promise," he said.

"All right," Eowyn grunted.

"Say it!"

"I promise!"

"You promise what?"

"Don't be such a jackass." It was the worst swear she knew. Eomer punched her shoulder, none too lightly. "All right, I promise if a boy tries to kiss me again I will tell you and Uncle Theoden," she said, scowling.

Eomer grinned. "Then I win." He stood and offered a hand to help Eowyn up. She took it, only because not doing so would mean admitting that her chest was still uncrumpling itself from being squashed.

There came a knock at the door, then Theodred entered, a lantern in his hand. "What are you doing?" he demanded sleepily. Catching sight of Eowyn, and of their dress, his eyebrows shot up. "You know you are not supposed to be out this late!" he scolded.

Eowyn glowered at him. "Look who is the Prince High- and- Mighty at nearly thirty years old," she retorted, resisting the urge to stick out her tongue at him.

What Theodred next said could have sounded bratty, but because his tone was urgent it came out as a worried notice. "If my father catches you," he warned.

"It is too late for that warning."

Eowyn and Eomer traded a worried glance, foreseeing many stalls to be mucked out and a much earlier hour of curfew. Their earlier anger evaporated. United in their transient plight, neither spoke again of that night. For the rest of her life, Eowyn would wonder how different things would have been if they had.

To be continued!

Only two chapters to go! Hopefully this story will be completed soon!


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